


Your Lips Are Undeniable

by surreal_eyes



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anxiety, Bedsharing, Blowjobs, Boys Kissing, Canon Compliant, Clothed Sex, Dry Humping, Hickeys, Kissing, Love Bites, M/M, Making Out, Marking, Mild panic, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possessive Behavior kinda lightly, Restraint kinda lightly, Rutting, SHOWER SEX!, Sleepy Cuddles, Sleepy Sex, Victor's a little shit, Yuuri's got a sub kink, added some angst i guess?, cockblocking hiroko we love her anyway, dont trust the internet, handjobs, he doesn't even really know about yet, okay there's feels now, un-betaed, what is a nibble anyway, yuuri's anxiety, yuuri's overactive imagination, yuuri's sexual awakening slash growing addiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:40:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27675485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surreal_eyes/pseuds/surreal_eyes
Summary: Yuuri gets kissed. He's not entirely sure what to do about it. Then it just... keeps happening...
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 52
Kudos: 441





	1. Kiss me Once, Kiss me Twice

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a one shot and grew. Now it's, like, lots of one-shots! Kind of.  
> I don't know how this works.  
> Tags will change (and likely become more explicit) as we go.

Yuuri has never once considered he would be _bad_ at kissing Victor Nikiforov.

Of course, this is mostly because he’s never allowed himself to consider _being close_ to Victor Nikiforov, let alone in his bed. Sure, there were teenage (and adult) fantasies involved with his idol, but they usually consisted of Victor watching him or doing things _to_ him… not with him. Victor would be jerking him off. Victor would shove him against the shower wall and do things to him. Victor would… well, you get the drift.

When the living legend appeared, naked and unabashed in the onsen, those fantasies changed… became more realistic… but they still lacked any sort of intimacy. They were strictly pornographic in nature, not sensual. Having Victor in his house just sharpened the mental images a little. He no longer had to imagine Victor’s smile, he could just remember it from that morning. Along with the feel of his hand on his thigh, the sleepy way he stretched in the mornings, and a million other details that Yuuri carefully filed away in his brain like a crow collecting shiny things.

Still, even after Victor moved in, very few of his fantasies involved him doing things _to_ Victor in return. Nor did they usually involve kissing, because Yuuri’s few experiences with kissing had always been horrible. The couple of kisses he’d had were mediocre at best, either sloppy to the point of grossness or stiff and awkward. He just doesn’t see the appeal in it.

When Victor kisses Yuuri for the first time, it’s a quick peck goodnight after a long day. It’s a brief, chaste brush of lips that lacks any sort of deepness or hunger, but it’s definitely a kiss. Yuuri is exhausted, having spent most of the day traveling after giving his theme speech at the JFS conference. It catches him totally off guard and he flounders, standing at Victor’s bedroom door, staring at him.

Victor takes his stunned silence for exhaustion, turns him around, and gives him a gentle push towards his bedroom. Yuuri stumbles his way in, closes his bedroom door, and sinks down on his bed. His fingers ghost over his own lips in stunned reverence.

Victor kissed him. Oh, god, Victor _kissed_ him.

He crawls in bed, not even bothering to change, and lays there tossing and turning. It replays in his head, over and over: Victor leaning, Victor’s lips brushing his, Victor’s somewhat smug and amused expression as he pulls away and shoos Yuuri to bed. He lays there and realizes, perhaps for the first time, that some of his fantasies might actually have a miniscule chance of coming true.

His body is terribly, terribly interested in that possibility. He sneaks a hand down his pants and brings himself to climax like a horny teenager, the fingers of his other hand still resting on his own lips. He comes hard enough to see stars, gasping, re-playing the kiss in his mind over and over. It’s better than any lewd pornographic images his mind has conjured up in the past.

Kissing suddenly seems a lot more appealing. He wants more.

Infuriatingly, it’s almost a week before he gets another kiss. Even more infuriatingly, the second is as chaste as the first, with Victor darting away before Yuuri even has a chance to register what’s happened. It’s another soft, quick brush of lips that sets Yuuri’s world spinning wildly out of control.

That night, he jerks himself off to it anyway. He can’t even imagine any of the fantasies he used to use anymore. Now it’s all the kisses. He feels a little dirty once he’s done. It was just a kiss, and not even a particularly steamy one. It shouldn’t affect him like this, right? He curls up in bed, spent but with his mind churning, his anxiety out in full force. He doesn’t sleep much.

By the time the third kiss happens, a couple days later, Yuuri is a mental catastrophe. He hasn’t slept well in days. Desire’s thrumming through his veins, simmering below the surface like acid, eating away at everything – his sleep, his self control, his energy. Every time Victor comes near enough to kiss, he wants to either grab him or skitter away (his brain can’t seem to decide which option is more appealing).

He makes the decision quickly when Victor ducks down for their third kiss. Before he can leave, Yuuri’s hands shoot up, his arms twining around Victor’s neck to hold him in place. Victor hums approvingly against his lips, surprised but pleased, and allows himself to be held. One of his hands drops to Yuuri’s hip, almost too hot through the thin track pants he’s wearing.

And oh, god, Victor’s lips are divine. Yuuri loses himself in the kiss, his entire world narrowing to the two of them, heated and lip-locked in the rink’s locker room. Victor is sweet and warm and plush. Every once in a while he makes these delicious little sounds that Yuuri wants to eat up.

And then… he’s gone.

“Ow.” Victor complains, pulling back and pressing a finger to his lip. “I think… you nicked me.”

Yuuri blinks, trying to bring himself back to the present, and stares at a spot of red on Victor’s bottom lip. Sure enough, he’d… done something. Bit him? Nicked him with a tooth? He has no idea, and no memory, but there’s the physical proof on the Russian’s swollen bottom lip.

Victor starts to say something, but Yuuri cuts him off. “I’m so sorry!” He backs away, twisting out of Victor’s grip, and starts shoving things into his gym bag. He’s not even sure what he’s packing, just that he has to _move_ , he has to _go,_ oh god he’d just made his idol _bleed_ and he is so bad at all of this.

Victor tries to speak again. Yuuri cut him off again, spewing some nonsense about being late for something and darting out the rink doors.

He avoids Victor for two straight days, making excuses for his absence via text, but he can’t avoid him forever. Mari corners him before bed on the second day, basically tells him to get his ass in gear, and that’s that. He arrives for training the next morning, bleary eyed and miserable.

Victor takes one look at him, frowns, and orders him off the ice and back to bed. Yuuri makes a token protest, but Victor just raises a brow, and after a solid minute of apologies and bows, Yuuri… goes. He strips down, lays in bed, and brings up Google.

He researches kissing for three straight hours. It’s not at all helpful. The internet provides a wealth of information, none of which makes any sense, and half of which contradicts the other half. What is ‘soft but firm’? Tongue, yes or no? Ew? Or erotic? How much spit is too much? What, exactly, is a ‘nibble’, and how would one do it, preferably without drawing blood?

He even brings up some clips from romantic comedy movies because they are all about grand sweeping gestures, and maybe he’ll be able to study those kisses and replicate them. Unfortunately, all that does is make him sigh wistfully. He gets sucked into The Prince and Me and once he falls asleep, dreams that one day Victor will sweep him up mid-procession on horseback and whisk him away to some enchanted Russian ice palace to marry him.

The fourth kiss comes a day later, as he’s leaving the rink. For once, he’s had a good training session. He is pleased with Eros (and Victor seemed to be pleased, as well, his eyes shimmering as he watched) and riding on the thrill of a routine well done. They’re about to split, both of them having separate plans – Victor with Minako, Yuuri with Yuuko.

Yuuri stands after taking his skates off, regaining his legs. There’s always a slight disconnect after exiting the ice, almost like he has to remember how to walk again instead of gliding. He shakes out a leg, tucks his skates in his bag, and turns.

Victor is there, so close. He leans forward and presses a soft kiss against Yuuri’s lips. Unlike Kisses One and Two, he doesn’t move away, just stays there, waiting.

Yuuri freezes. Every single internet advice column crowds his brain. The image of Victor’s bloody lip after Kiss Three flashes in his mind and he feels momentarily dizzy. Victor is still kissing him, moving his lips in a way that makes Yuuri feel weak, but Yuuri can’t make himself return it.

After a moment Victor pulls back, a little furrow between his brows. His vivid blue eyes searches Yuuri, who flushes scarlet under the scrutiny. He steps back silently and Yuuri, like the coward he is, runs.

Kisses Five and Six are quick, chaste pecks again. Victor hasn’t given up, though he also hasn’t tried for anything deeper since the disaster that was Kiss Four. Yuuri relaxes incrementally. As long as they’re quick, light brushes, he does just fine. He can handle that.

Victor seems to take that as blanket permission and after a while, Yuuri loses count of the kisses. Victor kisses him good morning, good night, as a reward for a routine done right, as consolation for a routine done wrong, randomly as they pass each other in the onsen… It’s heady. Yuuri gets this feeling of almost being hunted, like Victor is lying in wait to kiss him each day, and he finds that he _loves_ it.

More and more of his fantasies now involve kissing. Deep, searching kisses – nothing like the soft brushes he’s become accustomed to, but more. He wants _more._ Kisses on lips, kisses on other body parts, kisses on the beach or (gulp) in the shower. He wants them all, in every form.

He’s just not sure how to _get_ them. He’s yet to initiate a kiss, terrified he’ll do it wrong again. He’s stopped his internet research but that still leaves him fumbling and inexperienced, so he just… doesn’t try. He lets the frustration and want simmer until he can feel it choking him, invading his dreams, invading his mind.

It all comes to a head a few days later.

Something is different today.

Victor is… upset. Subdued. Quiet.

Yuuri notices during breakfast. Victor is talking to Yuuri’s mother, telling her some story about traveling to France in broken Japanese mixed with English. Yuuri’s pretty sure neither of them are catching every word, but the sentiment is there, and Hikoro’s laughing in all the right places so he doesn’t volunteer to translate.

He watches Victor, instead.

Something’s wrong. He can’t put his finger on what, but something… something’s off. His smile is a little more press-worthy and a little less authentic. His jokes are a little flatter than usual. His chuckles sound right on the edge of forced. When he thinks nobody’s looking, he drops his smile, and there’s a flash of melancholy.

Yuuri looks around at his gathered family, wondering why they can’t see it. They’re all acting normal. Yuuri just sighs, thinking maybe he’s wrong, and finishes his breakfast before heading upstairs to change.

His suspicions are confirmed at the rink. Victor is all brisk and professional, not necessarily in a bad mood but not exuding his usual cheerfulness. He has his skates on but doesn’t join Yuuri on the ice beyond a few warmup laps. He loiters by the rink entrance, coaching from afar. There’s no cheerful banter, no sneaky touching, no ‘hey Yuuri lets try a pair move!’.

Yuuri tries to ignore it, put it out of his mind so he can practice, but after his third failed attempt at a triple axel (a jump he could usually do in his sleep), he gives up and skids to the rink edge. He reaches for his water bottle and takes a swig. Victor watches him with a brow raised in question.

“Do you… want to talk about it?” Yuuri ventures. He briefly considers reaching out, maybe patting Victor’s back of something, but he stays frozen in place.

“About what?” Victor asks, too nonchalantly. Yuuri sees right through it. He makes a motion to the other skater, a general ‘this’ sort of movement.

“About whatever’s bugging you?”

They stare at each other for a few beats before Victor sighs and glides closer. He brackets Yuuri between his arms, his hands on the rink wall behind him, and leans in. He presses a gentle kiss to Yuuri’s forehead, then the tip of his nose, then dips down to cover his lips. This kiss is deep, searching, and Yuuri freezes like a deer in headlights. He goes stiff, and Victor can tell. He pulls back to blink at him, frowning.

“Yuuri.” He starts, then hesitates. “You… do you not like it? When I kiss you?”

Yuuri, still in a bit of a daze, goes, “Huh?” because he’s an idiot.

Victor's frown deepens and he leans back, pushing off the rink wall to start to glide backwards. In a panic, Yuuri reaches to grab his jacket and pull him back in. There’s a brief moment where it feels like they’re both about to go down in a tangle of limbs, but Victor digs his toepicks in and keeps them both standing. Yuuri lets out a breath but doesn’t let go.

Victor now seems thoroughly confused, his gaze flicking from Yuuri’s hands fisted in his jacket to Yuuri’s face. Yuuri unconsciously licks his lips and he can practically feel the Russian’s gaze zoning in on the movement.

_Now what!??!?!_ His brain screams at him.

“I, uh.” He falters, dropping his gaze to the plain black warmup jacket he’s holding for dear life. There’s a popped stitch near the zipper. He could fix that. It would take two minutes, then it wouldn’t unravel anymore, and Victor could-

“Yuuri.” Victor brings him back by hooking a gloved finger under his chin, tilting his head up. Their eyes meet and Yuuri can feel his face warm with a blush. Stupid blush. Victor’s other hand comes up to cup his cheek, his thumb brushing over where it’s red. It’s a soft and tender motion. Yuuri wants it to never stop.

“I’m not very good at it!” Yuuri belts out in a rush. The relief once the words are out almost makes him dizzy. Victor quirks a brow.

“Not good at… kissing?” He clarifies, his thumb still running over Yuuri’s cheek in soothing strokes. The glove is soft, but Yuuri has a flash of wanting skin, and makes a little noise. Victor’s eyes are on him, searching, confused.

“Yes.” Yuuri finally answers, just barely able to remember the question. He grits his teeth and forces the words out. “Kissing. I’m bad at… at… kissing. Like, really bad. I don’t know what to do and I want it to be good for you, because, uh, you deserve good… kisses…”

Victor smiles at that and it’s like the sun coming out after a week of Detroit winter gloom. Yuuri thinks he gasps – he’s not entirely sure, because Victor’s kissing him again, and all he can do is let it happen. Victor’s hands come up to cup both his cheeks, holding him steady, and Yuuri has to loop his arms around the Russian because otherwise he _will_ faceplant into the ice.

When Victor pulls back, it’s with a breathless chuckle. “Is that all? You had me so worried, my Yuuri.” He ducks down for another kiss, short and sweet, before pressing his forehead against Yuuri’s. “I thought you hated it.”

“I, uh.” Yuuri says eloquently. “No.”

“Would you like me to teach you?” Victor asks, fond and amused now, all traces of his earlier melancholy gone. Yuuri has to swallow, hard, before he can even breathe again. At least five of his fantasies include those exact words, so yes, please, he would very much like that. He nods mutely, his voice refusing to cooperate, but Victor gets the hint.

He chuckles, a low dangerous sound, and runs his hand down Yuuri’s arm until he can twine their fingers together. There’s not much heat through the gloves but it’s a grounding feeling, holding Victor’s hand. Victor tugs, sliding backwards, and Yuuri follows in a daze.

“Let’s go somewhere more private.” He suggests.

“Wait, now?” Yuuri squeaks.

Victor’s gaze turns predatory. He licks his lips. Yuuri feels like he’s about to combust.

“Now.”


	2. Amazing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let the lessons begin. And end. Happily. If you know what I mean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating changed to E.  
> E-rated tags added.

Yuuri isn’t entirely sure what he expected. Textbooks and charts? Demonstrations on a dummy? In the rational part of his brain, he realizes ‘teaching him how to kiss’ is an excuse for ‘lots of kissing’ but currently his irrational part of his brain is screaming into the void, so it all gets lost in a muddle.

Victor doesn’t let go of his hand the whole way back to the onsen. His gloved fingertips keep brushing Yuuri’s knuckles, over and over, and he keeps stealing little glances that are full of promise. Yuuri both wants to melt and scream every time their eyes lock.

Mari’s in the onsen common room reading a newspaper. She glances up as they come in, likely confused at why they’re back so early. Yuuri does his best to send a panicked ‘help me’ look at her but she seems more focused on Victor, who waves with his free hand.

“We need a nap!” He chirps as an explanation, shameless. Yuuri blushes so hard he’s sure his face is going to catch fire. Mari’s eyes fall to their joined hands; she smirks and shrugs, then goes back to her paper.

“ _Don’t forget protection.”_ She mumbles in Japanese as they pass. Yuuri lets out a very undignified squeak and hopes Victor’s Japanese studies haven’t included that phrase yet.

Victor half-drags, half-pushes him into his room once they’re upstairs. It’s a little awkward, being in the Russian’s space, even if he’s been here before for more… innocent reasons. He takes a second to study the knick knacks and assorted collections Victor seems to accrue. He ignores the marble bust. Everyone ignores the marble bust.

Victor’s eyes flick around, then settle on Yuuri, and it’s a lot like being enveloped in a heated blanket. He gets warm and fuzzy and a little dizzy, so he grasps for something, anything, to distract himself. His gaze falls to the bookshelf, where there’s books in several languages, some he doesn’t even recognize.

“Uh. How many languages you do read?” He decides to ask because his brain is mush and it seems like a reasonable question until it’s out of his mouth.

Victor raises one brow in silent question, his lips quirking into an amused smile. “Four.” He answers, going along with it. There’s a thud as he drops his gear bag, then strips off his gloves and tosses them on top. “I speak five fluent, two more conversational.”

Yuuri blinks. “You speak seven languages?” Then he hastily averts his eyes as Victor strips out of his jacket and lays it over the desk chair. Yuuri shifts from foot to foot, still in his own jacket, his fingers twined awkwardly in front of him. He looks everywhere but at Victor.

“Languages are fascinating and most of them are related, especially the Romance languages. Once you learn one, you can pick up the others.” Victor pauses, as if contemplating his next move, then moves in front of Yuuri. His gloves are gone, so he trails one bare finger down his cheek.

“Japanese has been the most difficult so far, but… Possibly that’s because I’ve been rather distracted.”

Yuuri swallows, his mouth suddenly dry, and manages an, “Ah.”

“It’s good practice.” Victor continues, leaning closer. He’s suddenly close, close, close. Yuuri holds his breath. “Learning how to use my lips and tongue in different ways.” He drops his head against Yuuri’s shoulder and ghosts his lips against his neck, not quite a kiss but a barely-there phantom of pressure. Yuuri chokes back a moan as his entire body erupts in goosebumps. He _has_ to breathe – it comes out as a frantic gasp.

He can practically feel Victor’s smirk against his skin. The Russian flicks Yuuri’s jacket zipper tab, then grasps it and pulls down slowly. The zipper slides, tooth by tooth, until it gapes open. He slides his hands up Yuuri’s arms and then his shoulders, pushing backwards until the jacket slides off.

Yuuri watches with wide eyes, frozen in place. It’s one of the most erotic moments of his life, and they’re both fully clothed and barely touching. He swallows hard as Victor ghosts around him, taking the jacket and laying it over his own. Then he turns, plucks off Yuuri’s glasses, folds them carefully, and sets them on the desk.

Yuuri’s left both too hot and too cold in only his t-shirt and track pants. He shudders as Victor steps back up in front of him, seemingly unaffected.

“Now.” Victor settles one hand on his side, right above his hip. The other slides up, comes up to cup Yuuri’s cheek. “Kissing. I knew you were… less experienced, but I didn’t realize you’d never been kissed.”

“R-right.” Yuuri stutters, then pauses as the words cut through the fog of arousal. “Hey, wait. I’ve been kissed.” He frowns at Victor’s slightly disbelieving look. “I have! It just… not… it wasn’t…” _you_ , he thinks, but doesn’t say it.

“You didn’t like it?” Victor guesses, then furrows his brow when Yuuri shakes his head.

“It wasn’t… anything special.” Yuuri tries to explain, ducking his head. “It didn’t, you know, _do_ anything, with them…”

Victor is silent for a moment, his thumb brushing against Yuuri’s red-hot cheek. Yuuri doesn’t dare look up at him. Victor just hums to himself before dropping his hands to tangle his fingers in Yuuri’s.

“And with me?” He finally asks, squeezing their joined hands in an attempt to be encouraging.

Yuuri chews his bottom lip. Victor gives him time, silently watching, patient. “With you…” Yuuri starts, takes a deep breath, and admits, “I never want to stop.” He keeps his gaze on their hands, admiring the way the Russian’s fingers fit so well against his, the contrast of his porcelain skin against Yuuri’s darker tones.

“And does it _do_ _anything_ when I kiss you?” Victor prompts, a hint of tease in his voice. Yuuri has to close his eyes again.

“Oh, yes.” He promises on a breathy exhale, speaking before thinking, the memories of his late night touching sessions after their first kisses resurfacing.

It’s silent, then, and Yuuri peeks an eye open to try to figure out why.

Victor is pink, a flush spreading over his cheeks and down his neck, disappearing down past the v-neck of his shirt. He’s staring at Yuuri like he’s a gourmet meal and he’s starving. He drops one of his hands, slinks his arm around Yuuri’s middle, and tugs him close so they’re chest to chest.

“Yuuri.” He warns, “I’m going to kiss you.”

Yuuri nods, and then Victor is _there_. Lips on his, soft and warm. Yuuri tenses up instinctively, his free hand fisting at his side. Victor lets him go to free his own hands, then skims both up his sides and arms. He guides his arms up and pulls back long enough to mumble instructions.

“Around my neck. I want you to just relax.” He ducks his head and trails his lips up Yuuri’s jaw, a wet smear that makes him shiver. “Don’t tense up, don’t try to help. Let me kiss you and just feel it, okay?”

Yuuri does as instructed and links his hands around the Russian’s neck. When Victor moves to his lips again, he’s ready, or at least _more_ ready. He forces himself to relax and finds that once he does, it’s surprisingly easy to surrender to the other man’s movements. It’s a dance, and Victor is leading. All he has to do is follow.

Victor is all silky heat and firm muscles and plush lips. Somehow, he can do that ‘soft but firm’ thing the internet went on about, and he does, molding his lips to Yuuri’s with a touch of demand without being forced. It quickly rises to the ranks of ‘best kiss of Yuuri’s life’, hands down, and he’s not even involved beyond standing there like an idiot, clinging to Victor’s neck because if he lets go he very well might fall. His legs feel like jelly and his brain has just started repeating ‘more, more, more’ like a broken record.

Victor leans back, eyes sparkling when Yuuri lets out a whimper of complaint. “Good.” He praises, sending a jolt of heat through Yuuri. “Good. Again. Feel me, feel how I move, what I do. Relax into it.”

Easy for him to say, Yuuri thinks, heady with endorphins. He has to smother a giggle, then Victor’s lips are on his again and all rational thought goes out the window. He tries to pay attention, but really at this point, it’s all instinct. When Victor goes still, he takes the lead, replicating his movements and tangling his fingers in soft, silver hair.

Victor hums in approval and trails his hands up Yuuri’s sides, leaving warmth and metaphorical sparks in his wake. Yuuri’s muscles twitch at the feeling and he presses forward. When Victor makes to pull away, this time he chases, letting out a whine and tightening his arms around his neck. He pushes it further by darting his tongue out to trace the seam of Victor’s lips.

Victor turns his head, breaking the kiss, and rubs his cheek against Yuuri’s. There’s a hint of stubble that feels glorious, and Yuuri has a flash of a thought that it would feel even better against the inside of his thighs. He lets out a low whine, his brain stuttering to a halt, and Victor exhales in a breathy chuckle.

“Is this okay?” He asks and Yuuri nods almost violently. The last thing he wants right now is to slow down, or god, stop. He feels like if they stop, he’ll catch on fire. Every cell in his body is stretching out, yearning, _Victor, Victor, Victor…_

“More.” He demands and watches Victor’s eyes darken. His coach regards him for a moment, searching, then nods and steps backwards. Yuuri almost shouts in frustration before he realizes he’s moving, too, with Victor’s hand grasping his and tugging gently for him to follow.

Victor crawls on the bed, his eyes dark and taunting, until he’s against the headboard. He sits up, his back flat against the wood, and tugs once more until Yuuri either has to crawl after him or awkwardly fall forward onto the mattress. He chooses the former, settling one knee on each side of Victor’s thighs and returning his arms around his neck. Positioned like this, with Victor underneath him, gives Yuuri a thrill of power he’s rarely had before.

The room seems to close around them, pressed together, breathing each other’s air. Victor’s watching him, questioning, so Yuuri nods and slides his fingers up to anchor his hand back in the Russian’s hair. He doesn’t miss the small gasp it draws from Victor. He tugs, just enough to angle his head up, and reclaims his lips.

Every kiss has been better than the last so far, but this… this is gold compared to coal. Yuuri’s entire body trembles as Victor presses into him, demanding entrance. He opens up and groans when he feels the wet velvet of their tongues brushing. Victor tastes him, exploring, then retreats; Yuuri follows, pressing his own tongue past the Russian’s lips. There’s a burst of pressure as Victor sucks his tongue and it’s so intense that Yuuri gasps.

“I love how responsive you are.” Victor purrs as Yuuri tries, in vain, to remember how to breathe. Victor’s fingers feather against his hip, slipping under his shirt, then he slides his hand around and presses his palm against the small of Yuuri’s back. It’s like a hot brand being burned into his skin. Yuuri’s breath hitches and he instinctively moves forward, away from it.

There’s a brief, delirious bit of friction as he presses forward and down, grinding against Victor. He’s hard. Victor’s hard. Neither his track pants nor Victor’s slacks do anything to hide the fact. He feels like that should be terrifying, for some reason, or at least embarrassing, but all he can think about is how good it would feel if he just… let go and ground down and chased that friction. He chokes off a moan at the thought and forces himself still, letting his eyes close while he grasps for a thread of control.

A few breaths later, when the world steadies a little, he blinks his eyes open to find Victor watching him, looking utterly content. His hand is still a hot circle against Yuuri’s lower back. His other hand sneaks up to cup his hip and press his thumb against a sliver of bare skin between his shirt and waistband. Teasing, taunting, but not pushing.

“Can we…?” Yuuri starts, his tongue feeling thick and dry in his mouth. He glances down, then back up, and prays Victor gets the message without further detail. “Like this?”

Victor beams. “Whatever you want, my Yuuri.” And Yuuri’s brain takes point-oh-two seconds to spiral that into _everything._ He has to close his eyes against the onslaught of mental images, all of which go straight to his cock, straining and hard enough already trapped in his pants.

“I don’t… I haven’t…” Yuuri tries to explain, but Victor shakes his head and tilts his head up in silent begging for another kiss. Yuuri can’t refuse, wouldn’t even if he could, so he dips down and seals his lips to Victor’s again. He marvels briefly about how natural it feels, especially after so little time.

When they come up for air, Victor grasps Yuuri’s hips and rolls his own upwards in a rough, jerking movement. Yuuri’s vision erupts in sparks and he gasps.

“Just do what feels good.” Victor suggests, repeating the movement. Yuuri has to use a hand against the headboard to steady himself, panting. When Victor stills, he grinds down tentatively. Victor lets out a little breath of appreciation.

“Harder.” He leans forward, scraping his chin against Yuuri’s neck and flicking his tongue against his earlobe. Yuuri shudders at the tease. “You won’t hurt me. Use those gorgeous hips. Take what you need.”

At this point, Yuuri can’t even blush; all his blood is pooled downwards, a pit of molten lava in his abdomen and between his legs. Victor takes his earlobe in his mouth, suckling, and he groans and grinds down. Harder _is_ better and he does it again, and again, each press a little different, trying to find the best angles. Victor urges him on with hands on his hips, guiding and stabilizing, and little breathy murmurs in a language that Yuuri doesn’t understand but travel straight to his cock anyway.

It doesn’t take long for that familiar spun-tight feeling to develop in his gut. His thrusts against Victor get a little more harried, a little less graceful. He knows dimly in the corner of his mind he’s making pathetic little sounds, but Victor seems to love it, so he doesn’t bother to stop. He’s so close, he can feel it, right there, all it’s going to take is another… and another… and another…

He can’t quite get there.

It’s frustrating. Infuriating. It’s so hot, so sexy, having Victor under him, he doesn’t understand why it’s not tipping him over the ledge. He growls quietly to himself and adjusts, splaying his knees out a little further for more contact, more friction. He plants one hand on Victor’s chest and the other against the headboard to use for leverage.

“Are you close?” Victor asks, sounding absolutely wrecked. Yuuri risks a look at him and goes breathless at the sight. His eyes are big, all pupil, blown wide. His hair’s a mess and there’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead. His lips are ruby red and kiss bitten. All because of _Yuuri._

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Yuuri babbles back, closing his eyes because the sight of an aroused, breathless Victor is on the edge of ‘too much’.

Victor’s hand slides forward, from his hip, to cup him through his pants. He wedges his hand between them, giving Yuuri a firmer point of contact to rut against.

“C’mon baby, let go.” He encourages. “I’ve got you.”

Yuuri keens out a sound he’ll be embarrassed about later and grinds himself against Victor’s hand, and that’s all it takes – direct contact, Victor’s hot palm against him, Victor muttering reassurances in his ear. One, two, three and he’s falling apart, shoving himself forward against Victor and clamping his knees around the Russian’s hips. He presses his forehead down against Victor’s shoulder and digs his fingers into his biceps hard enough to bruise.

Victor lets out a low groan and grasps Yuuri’s ass with his free hand, thrusting upwards in jerky, frantic movements until it hits him, too. He stills and lets out a little quiet cry, holding Yuuri to him as he rides his own wave.

They’re both gasping for breath as they come down, Yuuri with his face hidden against Victor’s shoulder and Victor with his chin upturned as if he’s avoiding drowning. A million thoughts crowd Yuuri’s head as the world returns to focus, most of them versions of apologies, none of which he verbalizes. He lets his cheek rest against Victor’s shoulder, still covered by his t-shirt, and he has to chuckle dryly. They hadn’t even taken off their shirts.

Victor cups the back of his neck and then slides his fingers up into his hair. He grips, gentle but demanding, then kisses Yuuri when he obediently lifts his head. It’s slow and sweet now, full of hazy post-orgasm softness, but still breathtaking. When they part, Yuuri tucks his face against the Russian’s neck.

“Amazing.” Victor murmurs quietly, his fingers stroking through Yuuri’s hair.

Yuuri snorts. “Sure, dry humping like teenagers, highlight of your sex life.” He blurts, then immediately regrets it. Victor frowns and shifts, trying to look at him; he tucks his face closer, avoiding.

“Yuuri.” Victor chastises, making Yuuri wonder just how many versions of his name Victor has. He reaches up to grip Yuuri’s chin in his fingers, forcing him to lift his head, then presses another gentle kiss on his lips. Yuuri wants to stay here, like this, forever.

“Amazing.” He says again, and this time Yuuri doesn’t argue, just settles back against his chest with a sigh. Next time he’ll be better, he’ll be more. Next time he’ll give Victor what he deserves, not some heavy petting session that barely scratches the itch. Next time, next time… Next time maybe he’ll be enough.

The train of thought is like a bucket of ice water over his head. He lets out a whimper and pulls away, shoving himself to sitting up. His pants are cold and sticky. It’s gross. He’s gross.

Victor sits up too, keeping a hand on him even as Yuuri tries to move away. His fingers grip his wrist. Yuuri pauses, glancing back. Victor looks… hurt. Sad.

“Yuuri… was that okay? Did we go too far?” He asks, sounding almost afraid of the answer. Yuuri’s resolve crumbles a little. He reaches out to stroke Victor’s cheek like Victor strokes his. It feels awkward with his fingers, his hands, but Victor leans into it like it’s the best feeling in the world.

“It was great.” He responds, then corrects, “Amazing. I just need to go clean up.”

“Come back? Sleep with me, Yuuri. I want to hold you. Please?”

Yuuri hesitates, but Victor’s expression, pining and almost expecting disappointment, changes his mind. “Okay.” He leans to peck his lips gently before he can overthink it. “Let me clean up and change and I’ll come back.”

Victor smiles, bright as the sun, and relaxes back against the headboard again. “Good. Hurry back, I miss you already.”

“Sap.” Yuuri teases, then hauls himself to the bathroom on legs that are still trembling.


	3. Perfection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Lets do it again!" Victor says.  
> Yuuri dies, melts in to the floor, and is never seen again.  
> (okay not really but work with me here)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh.  
> My one shot about kissing has grown. More. Grown more. And there's, uh, this... plot... sort of thing... I don't know what's going on.  
> Tags added for mild not-quite panic attack, anxiety thoughts, bed sharing (it's Victuuri, duh), hickeys.  
> Enjoy?

Falling asleep in someone else’s bed is hard.

Falling asleep with the human version of an octopus is harder.

It’s not that Yuuri minds the touching; at least, not when it’s Victor. He’s not, in general, a touchy person, due to a mix of his own personality and cultural upbringing. Victor, as usual, is the exception. He practically craves Victor’s touch.

The problem is, he’s just not _used_ to it. Every little movement Victor makes jolts him awake. He’s either too hot with Victor wrapped around him or too cold when he’s not. Victor snores, which is adorable when Yuuri’s awake but irritating when he’s trying to fall asleep.

Makkachin is at the foot of the bed, and while he’s somewhat used to her from her sneaking in his room, he’s not used to being penned in by a dog in one corner and Mr Human Octopus in the other corner. He alternates between curling up to take up as little space as possible and stretching out in an attempt to wrestle some space (and blankets; Victor is absolutely a blanket thief) away from the other two.

He falls asleep in the early hours of the morning when Victor finally seems to settle into a deeper sleep and stops clinging quite as much. He’s left with Victor’s arm thrown around his waist, the Russian’s face plastered against his back, and their legs in a tangle. It’s not uncomfortable, just… different.

He falls asleep, just to wake up a few hours later when Victor stirs. He reaches for his phone and peers at the display with dread. He’s had three hours of sleep. It’s just past 5am. Absolutely _not._

“Go back to sleep.” He half-snarls at the Russian, who pauses halfway to sitting up and blinks down at him angelically. Nobody should look that good straight out of bed. Yuuri wants to kiss him… and maybe punch him if he doesn’t let him get back to sleep.

“What?”

“Victor. It’s five am. I’ve slept two hours. If you don’t lay the fuck back down and go back to sleep, I will steal Makkachin and run away with her.” Victor gasps, scandalized. Yuuri’s too tired to care. His threat properly verbalized, he tucks his hands under his pillow and burrows back under the covers to hopefully get some more sleep. After a moment of stunned silence, Victor chuckles and cuddles up next to him again.

It’s almost easier to sleep with Victor awake. Instead of octopus-like clinging, awake-Victor gives little touches – fingertips skimming down Yuuri’s arm, light kisses against his shoulder blade, the warmth of his bare chest against Yuuri’s shirt-covered back. It’s nice, and Yuuri lets himself relax into it, relax into _this_ , and allows himself to be lulled back to sleep.

When he wakes again, it’s almost 8, and Victor is predictably gone. He frowns, patting the bed beside him, oddly bereft of the other man’s company. He snorts at his own pining. It’s been a couple of months since Victor moved to Japan, and only a couple of weeks since their first kiss, and… 12 hours since… whatever that was last night. Sex? Heavy petting? Yuuri’s too embarrassed to admit ‘dry humping’ probably fits best. It seems so… juvenile. Teenage.

Still, juvenile or not, the memories of the night before have him tingling all over his body. He allows himself a brief moment of wiggling in bed, grinning like an idiot, before stretching languidly until his muscles ache. He needs to shower and dress and find some breakfast and hopefully a source of caffeine. He’s lost enough time sleeping in already.

Victor probably won’t be happy they slept in so late. Oh, well. Maybe Yuuri can kiss it all better. The thought makes him smile a little as he grumpily hauls himself out of bed. His anxiety seems a smidge better today, at least. Maybe he did just need to get laid, like Phichit always suggested.

He showers, dresses, and is in the middle of retrieving his phone from Victor’s nightstand when Victor reappears at his bedroom door. He swoops in before Yuuri can even squeak out a greeting and boom, they’re kissing. Victor takes his time, a lazy, languid kiss that leaves Yuuri boneless when they part. Slightly dizzy, he grips the Russian’s arm and fights to keep his balance. He’s not sure if he’ll ever get used to this; he’s not sure if he ever _wants_ to get used to this. There’s something magical in it.

“Morning.” Victor greets cheerfully after they part. With no warning, he scoops up Yuuri bridal-style and tosses him on the bed. Yuuri squeals, hitting the mattress with a thud, and splutters as he tries to get his bearings.

“Victor!”

“Last night was fun.” Victor mentions nonchalantly as if he hasn’t just tossed Yuuri like a sack of potatoes. He climbs forward on the bed, caging Yuuri in under him, his hands on either side of his head, and grins roguishly. “Lets do it again.”

“What?” Yuuri blushes scarlet and presses his hands up against Victor’s chest to stop him from advancing further.

“You heard me!” Victor chirps, ducking his head to leave a slobbery kiss against Yuuri’s jaw, heedless of the hands pressed against him. “Lets do it again. Often. As much as you’ll let me. Maybe with less clothes next time? Or with them. I’m not picky, as long as it’s you.” He mouths across Yuuri’s jaw, wet and sloppy and delicious. Yuuri’s breath catches as goosebumps erupt up and down his entire body.

He can’t believe that Victor _liked_ what they did, in all its juvenile glory, enough to want _more_ … it doesn’t compute. He blinks as Victor keeps mouthing, down his neck, across the bit of collarbone peeking out of his t-shirt. He leaves one hand near Yuuri’s head while the other dips down to sneak up his shirt, palm hot on his side and thumb brushing his ribs. Yuuri grits his teeth against a moan but he can’t stop himself from squirming.

“But, uh. Training.” He tries to protest. It sounds weak, even to his own ears.

Victor makes a dismissive sound laced with amusement. “Your coach will forgive you.” He promises. “Might even encourage you. We can call it cardio.” His fingers inch up and up his shirt, ghosting the edge of his chest. Yuuri closes his eyes against a wave of arousal so intense he feels he’s going to overheat. Victor’s going to kill him.

“Oh.” He mumbles, breathless. “Okay.” Victor nips at his neck, then flicks his tongue out to sooth it. Yuuri shudders and fists his hands in Victor’s shirt. There’s more kisses against his neck, then a brief flash of suction that makes Yuuri groan. He’s not entirely sure what’s happening but his body _likes_ it.

It only clicks once Victor leans back to examine his handywork, looking like he’s just won another world title, and Yuuri slaps a hand over his neck once he realizes just _why_ his coach looks so giddy. He panics and shoves Victor off to the side. The Russian lands with a chuckle while Yuuri scrambles up to peer in the mirror. Sure enough, there’s a blooming purple spot right above his collarbone.

“VICTOR.” He squeals. Behind him, Victor rolls over on his stomach and pops his feet in the air, kicking idly, still grinning. He’s the picture of innocence and sweetness.

“Sorry.” He says, not sounding the least bit sorry, and his grin widens as Yuuri turns to face him. “It’s under your shirt!”

“BARELY.”

Victor reaches out, nabs his wrist, and before he can fight it, he’s being tugged back on the bed. He flops down gracelessly on his back parallel to Victor, legs dangling off the side of the mattress. The Russian takes no time at all to roll and box him in again, knees denting the mattress on each side of his hips.

“Sorry.” He whispers, and this time it sounds a little more apologetic. “Just want you to be mine.” He twines his fingers in Yuuri’s, then raises them, slowly, inch by inch, giving Yuuri time to say stop or get away. Yuuri doesn’t. His brain’s turning that phrase over and over. Mine, mine, mine…

When Victor pins his wrists to the bed above him, he lets out a breathy gasp and can’t stop himself from arching. It’s not a strong grip, but there’s something about it; something about being held, even if it’s an illusion, that stirs Yuuri’s blood.

Victor’s knee comes up, slowly, to tuck between his legs. The pressure is just enough to tease, but not enough to be satisfying. It makes Yuuri breathless anyway. He’s hard already, just from the making out, and he squirms, searching for friction. Victor keeps his leg just on the edge of ‘too far away’ and has the nerve to chuckle when Yuuri arches and squirms more to try to reach.

“So responsive. You’re so gorgeous.” Victor purrs against his ear before dipping down to mouth at the skin of his neck again. “I love your reactions, I love your sounds, I love your body.” Each declaration sends a shiver through Yuuri. He whimpers and stretches, wrapping one leg around Victor’s hips and trying to shove forward to force them together. Victor hums happily, even as he stays infuriatingly out of reach, and captures Yuuri’s lips again in a hot, heavy, searching kiss that Yuuri loses himself in.

“Yuuri!” The call comes from the hallway. Yuuri startles and breaks the kiss with a gasp, pulling his arms down sharply and almost elbowing Victor in the face in the process. The Russian freezes while he scrambles up and skitters to the side of the room, eyes wide and breaths coming in startled pants. A scant second later, there’s a knock on the door.

“Yuuri! Are you going to the rink? Do you need breakfast? Should I pack a lunch?” Hiroko calls out cheerfully, unaware of her son’s sudden desire to sink into the floor. Or hopefully unaware. Oh god, what if she heard something? What if she _knows_? Shit! She knocked on _Victor’s_ door calling for Yuuri.

Yuuri’s eyes go wide as his breath catches. He has to put a hand on the wall to stabilize himself. _She knows._ He blushes clear to the tips of his ears while Victor watches with a sort of baffled fascination.

There’s another knock. “Yuuri?”

“Yes, please, mama!” Victor calls out instead, seeming to realize Yuuri is currently incapable of speech. His brow furrows, amusement being replaced with concern. “We’ll be down in a moment!”

“Okay dear!” Hiroko shuffles away, her steps light down the hall. Yuuri’s still standing, stunned, so Victor pulls himself up and slides his arms around his waist from behind. He props his chin on Yuuri’s shoulder and presses a light butterfly kiss against his cheek. Yuuri shudders, this time from unexplainable panic instead of arousal.

“Yuuri?” He asks quietly. “What’s wrong?”

“She… she knows…” He mumbles, barely able to remember English, let alone explain why he’s frozen in place and a breath away from bursting into tears. He’s overreacting. He _knows_ he’s overreacting. He’s just not sure how to stop.

“Knows what?”

“Knows… us… she came to _your_ room to get me.” He’s still staring at the door.

Victor nuzzles his nose against the back of Yuuri’s neck. It’s meant to be comforting, but Yuuri’s ramped up anxiety makes it irritating. He bites his cheek and squirms in Victor’s grip until he lets go, moving a step away. With space between them, his head clears a little and he can breathe easier.

Victor frowns at him and drops to sit on the bed, leaning back on his hands. Yuuri knows he’s waiting for an explanation. He’s not sure he can give one. It’s all a blur in his head; fear of judgement, the idea that people will think he’s fooling around with his coach when he should be training, wasting time; his _parents_ thinking he’s wasting time, wasting their money and support. All of it swirls around in his head until he can’t even pick out one specific reason to give.

He counts down from ten before looking back at Victor. He’s still sitting, watching, patiently. He’s learning, Yuuri realizes. Learning how to deal with the mess that he is, how to gauge his mood and needs. Later, it will be endearing. Right now, it feels like… handling. He fights against the flash of annoyance that feeling brings up. Victor’s just trying to help. It’s a good thing.

With a groan, he drops his head into his hands and rubs his forehead with his fingertips. It smudges his glasses. He focuses on that, taking them off and rubbing them clean with his t-shirt. Somehow, fixing that one little stupid thing gives him a modicum of control and he’s able to build from there. He plans his words, stringing them in his head before verbalizing them.

“I don’t want my family to think I’m wasting time when I should be training.” He explains, each word careful and thought out. Victor lets out a breath of relief before his expression goes blank. Yuuri doesn’t understand until he speaks.

“It’s not me? You’re not, I don’t know… ashamed to be seen with me?” Victor asks, an odd note of hesitancy in his tone. Yuuri immediately shakes his head.

“No! No, that’s not… no… fuck.” Yuuri closes his eyes, inhales and exhales, pressing his fingers against his temples. “Sorry. I need… just hold on.” He can’t see Victor’s reaction, but the Russian doesn’t get up to leave or laugh at him, so that’s a good start.

“I would love to be seen with you.” He starts, “I want to be seen with you. You’re all I’ve… ever wanted, ever dreamed of. I don’t…” _think I’m worth you, think you’ll stay, think I’m anywhere near what you deserve_ he thinks, but doesn’t verbalize, because Victor doesn’t let him talk like that anymore and would end up arguing with him about it. He always means well, but Yuuri just can’t handle that right now, so he lets it trail off and starts again.

“This.” He drops his hands, gives Victor a serious look, and motions between them. “Us. Can’t interfere. I still have to train. I still have to win. I can’t be… distracted. I want to be!” He hurries to assure as Victor’s smile wavers. It gains that plastic-y press tone. Fake. Yuuri can’t take it. He steps forward and frames Victor’s face with his hands, tilting him up to look him in the eye. The Russian’s gaze slides sideways. It’s like a stab in the heart.

“Victor.” He begs, brushing his thumb against his cheek. “Please believe me. It’s not you. I want you. I want this. I want it so much it’s like a dream. I just can’t... forget everything else, and I _will_ if I don’t stop myself. I’ll… lose myself in you, and be happy doing it, but I can’t. I _can’t._ I’ve worked too hard.” He babbles, tears in his eyes, begging Victor to understand. “Please, please understand, it’s not you.” He feels a wet drop fall right as Victor meets his eyes again.

“Oh, Yuuri.” The Russian mutters, his hands coming up to cover Yuuri’s against his face.

“I don’t know how to do this.” Yuuri mumbles as more tears start to fall. “I don’t know how to balance it. It’s all so much. I owe so much to everyone – my family, my fans, my coaches, _you_ … myself… I’m terrified I’ll lose focus. I can’t lose focus. I can’t. I’m so close.” He sniffles and pulls a hand away from Victor’s to scrub it across his nose. It’s gross, but so is free-running snot. Victor is silent for a beat, his thumb running soothingly across his knuckles. Finally he lets out a little sigh.

“Yuuri.” Victor murmurs, barely a whisper. “Can I have half an hour? Please? And then we’ll go get breakfast and go train, and I promise you, I’ll be serious and coach-like and focus.”

Yuuri feels relief course through him like a drug. “Yes. That sounds perfect.” He smiles a little watery smile and nods, and Victor tugs him back on the bed. When Yuuri settles, he winds himself around him, arms and legs tangled, Yuuri’s head tucked under his chin. It’s warm and comfortable and _safe_ and Yuuri feels some of the tension bleed out. He closes his eyes and lets out a breath, nudging his nose up against Victor’s chest while the Russian trails a hand, comforting, up and down his back.

Of course Victor would understand. You don’t get to be a living legend by slacking off. He understands and knowing that makes Yuuri almost dizzy with relief. His other friends, his college friends, didn’t get it. They didn’t understand the drive, the _need_ , to keep pushing. Neither does his family – not really, at least. It was just Phichit, and even he had a natural talent that balanced out a need to train the hardest. Yuuri didn’t have that. He had to train, had to work, because it was the only way he got better.

But Victor understands.

“Thank you.” Yuuri says, slightly muffled by how close he is pressed up against Victor. The Russian hums and slides his hand up to card his fingers through Yuuri’s hair.

“Your heart is big enough to love more than one thing, you know.” Victor notes, brushing his fingers down the back of Yuuri’s neck. “The rest is all logistics. Compartmentalizing. Balance.” He drops a gentle kiss against the top of Yuuri’s head. “We’ll figure it out, my Yuuri. We will. I promise.”

Yuuri, reassured, lets himself believe him. He spends a half hour cradled in Victor’s arms, then gets elbowed up and led down for breakfast. Hiroko smiles at him as she drops a plate of food in front of him and tells him to make sure to eat lunch and don’t work too hard. It’s completely normal and routine. There’s not pointed judgements and demands on why he’s not 100% focused, no snarky comments about wasting time, nothing.

Not that he truly expected it, but anxiety has a way of spiraling into illogical expectations.

True to his word, Victor’s the epitome of professionalism for the afternoon, and puts Yuuri through his paces with no holding back. Then, as soon as Yuuri’s skates are off, he sweeps him up into a kiss that leaves Yuuri dazed and holds his hand the entire way back to the onsen.

It’s perfect.


	4. Sleepy Victor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Payback is a bitch. But not really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh I may rename this to "Yuuri's intense sexual awakening" because, wow.  
> Now with less plot!  
> (lies. plot's coming in Ch5. sorry in advance. It hurts)

Yuuri ends up moving into Victor’s room in bits and pieces. It’s not really a conscious decision, more like a slow development. First he leaves some clothes, not liking having to dart down the hall in the mornings. Then one day he forgets his skates in Victor’s room after practice, and they seem to just… stay there, by unspoken agreement, next to Victor’s. He moves his laptop in when they’re watching a movie together and it just… stays, as well, on the desk next to Victor’s.

Makkachin is thrilled.

Neither of them acknowledges it, it just happens. Yuuri’s relieved that his parents just seem to accept it. Even his anxiety finally seems to realize they don’t care one bit about what him and Victor are doing. Not that he truly expected them to, logically, but the ease of which Hiroko drops off his clean laundry on Victor’s bed or tosses his skating magazine on Victor’s desk is reassuring.

Sometimes Yuuri still needs space, and he retreats back to his room for a few hours or even, rarely, a night, but it becomes more and more rare as Victor learns how to better navigate his anxiety and Yuuri adjusts to living side by side with another person. It’s hard at first, sharing a space with someone else in such an intimate manner, but he gets used to it.

Sleeping with Victor becomes easier too. Yuuri starts adapting to having another person in bed with him. Eventually the little movements and snores don’t keep him up like they used to. Every once in a while, Victor will wake up from some sort of nightmare, and Yuuri learns the best way to get him back to sleep is to hold him close. When he wakes up at 3am to Victor twining around him like ivy, he just shuffles to get more comfortable and falls back asleep. To his surprise, after a week or so, he finds he wakes up more rested with Victor than without.

But really, it’s waking up to Victor that’s the best.

Sleepy Victor is soft Victor, especially on rest days when he has no reason to hop right out of bed. He mumbles morning greetings in Russian and cuddles Yuuri close. He’s free with little touches and sappy soft kisses that Yuuri wants to hoard like a dragon hoarding gold.

Yuuri likes awake, goofy Victor, too, but he thinks sleepy Victor is his favorite.

Sometimes, if Yuuri’s awake enough, he can tempt him into an early make-out session. It gets easier and easier to initiate as they grow closer, and sleepy Victor is fun to tease. Usually, it’s just that – kisses and touches. Victor seems content no matter how far they go, perfectly happy to let Yuuri set the pace. Yuuri’s 100% sure his pace is too slow and eventually Victor will tire of him, but for now, it’s nice to have some room and grace while he navigates his own sexual awakening. Not to mention the touches and kisses are pretty spectacular even with no follow up.

Today, though, Yuuri wakes up with a warmth already simmering deep in his stomach. He’s tucked up against Victor’s side, his head pillowed on his chest and one leg thrown over his thighs. It puts certain parts of his anatomy right up against Victor’s hip. In his half-asleep state, he has less inhibitions, and presses his hips forward without really thinking about it. The contact sends a bolt of warmth through him, so he does it again.

It’s about then that his brain boots up enough to realize Victor might not want this and is still asleep, so he pulls away with a flush and starts to roll over. Victor stops him, slinking an arm around his shoulders and pulling him back against his side. He huffs in amusement at Yuuri’s affronted squeak.

“Why’d you stop?” He mumbles, his accent heavy and rough with sleep.

Yuuri licks his lips and tucks his head further down against Victor’s neck. He’s blushing scarlet, his cheeks warm.

“Wasn’t sure if you were awake.” He mumbles back, his blush getting impossibly redder as Victor chuckles.

“Wouldn’t matter.” He assures, “Keep going. Here…” He twists, turning to face Yuuri and slotting his thigh between his legs. One hand goes to his hip, pulling him closer, and Yuuri gives in and lets himself lazily rub forward. Victor makes an approving sound and toys with the hem of his t-shirt, his fingers brushing against Yuuri’s hip teasingly.

Yuuri shivers and bucks forward a little harder, pressing one hand against Victor’s bare chest. Victor isn’t ripped, exactly – his torso is all lithe muscle, lean and well defined but not bulky. His skin is warm and impossibly smooth as Yuuri lets his hand slide down his breastbone to splay across his abs. When Victor doesn’t complain or stop him, he starts to wander, fingers trailing the divots and curves of the muscles.

He spends a timeless eternity memorizing the feel of each one, then dips his hand down, tracing the V of his hips until he hits the waistband of his sleep pants. He feels Victor’s deep inhale as he moves sideways, teasing right at the edge of the elastic, before moving back up. The entire time he continues rocking, lazy slow hip rolls that leave him with a steady background hum of physical pleasure.

In retaliation, or maybe as encouragement, Victor slips his fingers further under Yuuri’s shirt and drags them up his spine. His nails aren’t long enough to truly scratch, but the scraping sensation makes Yuuri arch like a cat. Victor’s hands are _so_ hot against his bare skin, making him tingle.

“How are you always so _warm_.” He wonders out loud, only half in jest.

“Russian.” Victor mumbles as some sort of explanation before tugging the shirt, a silent question. “Off?” He asks, hopeful, but Yuuri bites his lip and hesitates, pausing his grinding.

“I have… stretchmarks.” Yuuri admits. “From… my weight. It’s not very, uh, pretty.”

“I know.” Victor says easily, shrugging with one shoulder. When Yuuri stares at him, he snickers. “I’ve seen you in the springs, Yuuri, and god knows how many times you’ve changed in front of me. I know what you look like. Your body is gorgeous. A couple tiger stripes isn’t going to change that.”

“In America ‘tiger stripes’ is usually used for pregnancy stretch marks.” Yuuri grumbles, then lets out a breath as Victor drops his hand back down to his hip and guides him back to grinding. He uses his grip to make the movements harder, more demanding, urging him on. Once Yuuri gets the rhythm, he lets go, slipping his hand up back under his shirt again, this time up the front.

“Ah. My mistake.” He brushes his thumb over a nipple and Yuuri sucks in a breath. “So since I’ve already seen you… take it off?”

“You just want to get me naked.” Yuuri quips, then whimpers as Victor’s fingers pinch his nipple. “Oh.”

“Mmm, I absolutely do.” Victor agrees, shameless, tracing the nub with a fingertip before pinching it again. “But topless is a great start." He pauses, cocks his head, and then continues, grinning. "Take your shirt off and I’ll lick.”

Yuuri closes his eyes at that, arousal at the idea hitting him like a jolt of electricity deep in his abdomen. He takes about a quarter of a second to decide, then grasps the hem of his shirt. He has to wiggle out of it, all with Victor’s fingers still teasing him, brushing and pinching his nipple.

Victor pauses just long enough for Yuuri to toss his shirt to the side once he’s free. A beat later, he’s pushing him on his back and hovering over him, kissing his sternum. If the Russian’s hands were warm, his lips are burning, and Yuuri immediately burrows both his hands in Victor’s hair in an attempt to ground himself and hold on to _something_.

Victor pauses. “This okay?”

“Absolutely.” Yuuri exhales, loosening his fingers to slide them through the soft silver hair instead of gripping. Victor presses another kiss to his chest, then moves sideways, his tongue flicking out over Yuuri’s already-hard nipple. Yuuri lets out a rushed breath at the contact, then moans outright when Victor sucks it into his mouth. His tongue flicks against the tip, then he clamps his teeth down gently. It’s right on the edge of painful, but good, and Yuuri squirms.

Then Victor pulls away and blows. The jolt of cool air against the wet skin makes Yuuri arch, either to get away or beg for more, he’s not sure. Victor kisses across his chest, then gives the other nipple the same treatment: lick, suck, flick, bite, blow. By the time he’s done with that side, Yuuri is an overheated squirmy mess under him. 

“You’re very sensitive here.” Victor remarks, flicking a nub with a finger. He seems awful pleased with himself. Yuuri twitches.

“You’re not?” Yuuri asks, fighting to keep his voice steady.

“A little. Not near as much as you. I love the way your body responds, like every touch is magic.” Victor moves to his side, head propped up on his hand, and trails his fingertips down the center of Yuuri’s chest. He goes a little further south, then trail back up… then down, a little further… and back up. It’s a torturous, glorious tease.

“Viiiccctor.” Yuuri whines, fisting his hands in the sheets. He’s on fire, flushed and sweaty.

“Tell me what you want.” Victor challenges. He slides his hand back down Yuuri’s chest, pauses at his stomach, then trails along the elastic band of his loose sleep pants. “This?” He flattens his hand against Yuuri’s stomach and tucks the tips of his fingers under the waistband.

Yuuri thrusts forward with a whimper. “Yes, god, please.” He can’t even think clearly enough to be shy or embarrassed. Desire has been humming through him like electricity since he woke up. He wants, _needs,_ it to crest. Victor’s hand slides further down, then his fingers are circling Yuuri’s cock, and it takes his breath away.

Victor starts with a few tentative strokes, soft and slow. It’s awkward and badly angled with his pants still on, but Victor seems disinclined to fix that, so Yuuri impulsively decides to take care of it. He lifts his hips and shoves his pants and underwear down to his thighs, watching as Victor's expression turns practically gleeful. He pulls his hand away long enough to lick a wet stripe up his palm, then returns to his task. He drops his head down to suck Yuuri’s nipple back in his mouth, laving the flesh with his tongue, while continuing to stroke. This time it’s a slick glide and Yuuri shudders violently, thrusting upwards into his fist, groaning low in his throat.

Having someone else touching him, having _Victor_ touching him, is completely different than doing it himself. Victor’s hand is tight and warm, unfamiliar but so, so good. He seems to know where to focus, where to touch, how to tease. His mouth is hot on his chest, licking and suckling as his hand works Yuuri base to tip in confident, sure strokes.

Yuuri breaks down into little whimpers and breathy moans, bucking up as Victor strokes down. He can’t stay still. He’s squirming and curling his toes, his thighs twitching. It’s torture of the best kind, even if he’s half convinced he’s going to have a heart attack with how hard his heart is thudding in his chest.

“Victor.” He moans. Victor pops off his nipple with a wet, lewd sound and Yuuri has to press his eyes closed. It’s overwhelming. English escapes him, so he just repeats. “Victor, Victor…”

Victor kisses him, thrusting his tongue in his mouth, and then does something absolutely magical with his wrist and Yuuri’s world erupts in stars. He breaks the kiss to cry out raggedly and grips Victor’s arm, his fingers digging in. Wave after wave of pleasure hits him, each one more vivid than the last.

He curls in on himself instinctively, gasping as come spurts over Victor’s hand and splashes down on his belly. Victor milks him through it, cooing endearments, until Yuuri relaxes and melts bonelessly against the mattress with a long, shaky, exhale. He blinks blearily up at the ceiling, then at Victor, who smiles at him and presses a gentle kiss against his lips.

“Stay.” Victor orders, then rolls off the bed. Yuuri closes his eyes and stretches, bone deep contentment spreading through his veins, then jerks as something warm rubs against his stomach. He drags his eyes open to find Victor cleaning him up with gentle swipes with a washcloth before tossing it towards the laundry hamper.

Yuuri dazedly pulls his pants up. The effort takes a lot. He manages a small smile at Victor when the Russian climbs back into bed. Victor reaches caress his cheek, then leans forward to kiss him, soft and loving. When they break apart, he tucks himself in behind Yuuri, one arm thrown over his waist and his nose buried against his bare back.

That’s about when Yuuri realizes something is still poking him.

“Shit!” He mumbles, trying to sit up. Victor tightens his grip with a grumble and Yuuri ends up floundering in a half-crunch position before giving up and slumping back down. “But, Victor, you-“

“Shh.” Victor interrupts, his hand clamping over Yuuri's mouth. Yuuri swallows. “S’okay, it’ll go away. That was for you. I’m fine.” He lets go and nuzzles against his back, relaxing with a sigh. Yuuri can feel him melting against him. Victor's always been weak to naked (or even half-naked) cuddles.

“But…” Yuuri starts to argue, then pauses. It doesn’t seem right, but Victor doesn’t seem bothered. He chews his bottom lip, feeling his post-orgasmic bliss seeping away by the second.

“Yuuri. Relax.” Victor orders, with a hint of crossness. “Please? Right now I just want to hold you.”

Yuuri winces at the tone and settles back down, allowing Victor to curl around him octopus-like. “I’m sorry.” He whispers.

Victor hums. “You can pay me back later, don’t worry.”

“… okay.”

They spend an hour lazing around, cuddling in bed, before Victor’s stomach grumbles and they decide lunch takes precedence over cuddling. At least, temporarily.

Two days later, Victor pins him on the bed, says “Payback time!” with a devilish grin, and teaches Yuuri how good it feels to have his thighs fucked.


	5. They Can Talk Tomorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri sees something he's not supposed to. It throws him for a loop.

Yuuri’s often thought about how he’s stealing Victor away from the world. It’s been stuck in his head since China, when Chris mentioned it during warmups. He’s taken glee from it, privately, knowing he’s the one to tempt Victor away from the circuit. He’s succeeded where others haven’t. Victor is his, for however long as the Russian wants him. There’s a sort of possessive thrill in it.

He’s never considered it the other way around; that he might be stealing the world away from Victor.

Until now.

He’s not supposed to be here, except he’s misplaced his phone, and he thought maybe he’d left it here when him and Victor had snuck up here for some heavy petting earlier in the day. He hasn’t found his phone, but instead, he found Victor, who was _supposed_ to be out with Minako. Victor is on center ice, head down, looking for all intents like he’s minutes away from winning another gold medal.

How could Yuuri not stop and watch?

The song on the PA system is a classical piece full of scaling piano and breathtaking violin backed by an orchestra. It alternates between slow and sweet, full of yearning, and hurried and frantic. He’s never heard it before, nor has he seen the choreography that Victor starts into. Intrigued, he leans forward, pressing a hand against the glass wall of the observation room.

Victor skates it like a program. He’s performing, just as he would at Europeans or Worlds or any other major competition. The problem is that here, in a run-down rink in Japan, he’s performing only for himself (and unknowingly, Yuuri).

He reaches out to a non-existent crowd, beseeching them with his pleas. He lines his jumps up to where judges would be sitting. He doesn’t start and stop or repeat movements like in practice, just skates the program as one long performance. He carries himself with the poise and energy of someone knowing they’re being watched.

It seems wrong, somehow. Victor has always been adored and surrounded – by fans, other skaters, his Russian rinkmates, cameras. He comes alive under the attention; blossoms under the pressure that Yuuri crumbles under. His favorite parts of competition are the same parts that feature in Yuuri’s nightmares. Watching him perform, alone, using a piece that’s obviously been practiced and polished and perfected, seems… wrong. There’s no other word for it.

Every time he nails a jump, Yuuri’s ears strain to hear the cheer of the crowd. Every time he goes soft, when the music slows, Yuuri tries to hear the sighs he knows would echo through the rink. That’s what Victor does – draws emotions out, makes people feel what he wants them to feel, makes them long for him, makes them want to cheer for him. The silence, here, is deafening in it’s own way.

Yuuri watches with wide eyes, feeling like he’s witnessing some sort of holy display, blinking back tears.

The music swells. Victor launches into a frantic, frustrated step sequence. He tears his hands through his hair, down his neck, and reaches… reaches for something, only to pull his arms back and hug himself before launching into a spin that goes so fast all Yuuri can see is a grey and black blur. It’s terrifying to watch, beautiful in it’s danger. He’s genuinely surprised that Victor doesn’t trip coming out of it, but the Russian is steady, the next moment kicking powerfully into a quad flip.

His skates hit the ice right as the music drops down to only piano, the other instruments abruptly cutting off. His glide out of the jump is smooth and lovely against the background of a single melancholy piano scaling up and down. He leans into an Ina Bauer, his body a graceful line, then kicks into another spin. This one is slower, more graceful and less frantic, but no less difficult.

When the music swells again, it’s all hard, choppy, frustrated movements. Twizzles and turns, rockers and twists, crossovers that give him breathtaking speed. If Stammi Vicino was longing, this is desperation. Frantic, confused desperation. Yuuri can see it, can _feel_ it.

Yuuri estimates the time. It’s been a while. It’s got to be near the end, and Victor has to be getting tired.

Victor seems to know it too. He downgrades a jump to a double, glides out of it, and then pops his last jump completely. The last spin, when he throws himself into it, travels like wild and Victor’s expression is laced with frustration. He comes out of it as the music ends, slams a pick in the ice, and holds an ending pose to an invisible crowd, reaching out in a parody of Yuuri’s own free skate.

He bows. It breaks Yuuri’s heart that there isn’t a surge of applause in reply. Then he pulls his hands back and covers his face. Yuuri can _see_ , even from this far away, how hard he’s breathing. His shoulders are shaking. He’s _crying._

Yuuri has to get out there.

He bursts through the rink doors right as Victor is dropping his hands and turning to leave. There’s tears dripping down his face and his mouth is twisted into a painful scowl. Yuuri scrambles out in street shoes and launches himself at him, taking them both down. He curls around Victor, cradling him, and starts babbling half-formed apologies and comforts.

Victor presses his face against Yuuri’s neck silently, but Yuuri can feel his collar getting wet from the Russian’s tears. He combs fingers through soft silver hair and mumbles whatever soothing things he can think of, struggling with keeping to English with all the conflicting thoughts in his head. Eventually he gives up and lapses into Japanese, telling Victor how beautiful he is and how much he loves him in between apologies.

The music repeats on the system, a haunting melody that Yuuri isn’t sure he ever, ever wants to hear again. He tries to tune it out.

Ice is unforgiving, especially when the body is not in motion. They’re both shivering by the time Victor pulls away. He discreetly rubs his nose on his shirt and stands, a little wobbly, before offering Yuuri a hand. Yuuri takes it only as a precaution because he’s in sneakers and they really don’t do well on ice.

When Victor notices, he manages a watery smile, but doesn’t ask why. He just leads Yuuri to the boards, one hand in his and the other a stable presence against his back. Once Yuuri’s on solid, non-frozen ground again, Victor steps away, picks up his phone, and stops the music. The rink goes silent.

“You saw that, huh?” He asks, his tone a horrible attempt at humor. It comes out flat and depressed. Both of them wince at it.

“Yeah.” Yuuri replies, rubbing at the back of his neck. “It, uh… It was something.”

Victor just nods, dropping his head. He stares at his skates silently until Yuuri reaches out to link their hands. Victor grimaces but doesn’t pull away. His hand just stays limp in Yuuri’s.

“I’m sorry.” Yuuri says, knowing it’s woefully inadequate but not sure what else to say. Victor’s hand twitches in his, then tightens, and he pulls Yuuri closer. Their lips meet in a soft brush that holds far too much emotion for Yuuri to process. He feels like he’s going to drown under the weight of it.

Victor seems to feel the same. The kiss is brief, then he’s pressing his forehead against Yuuri’s with a sigh.

“Come skate with me.” He pleads, like a man requesting a stay of execution. Yuuri swallows hard and squeezes his hand.

“Of course.”

They spend an hour together, just skating. Victor lifts Yuuri ice-dancer style and it makes him squeal. Yuuri spins them together in a pairs spin him and Phichit learned one night while half-drunk and bored. They glide together and have an impromptu jump-off for who can chain the most double jumps together; Yuuri wins by virtue of his stamina alone. Then they cool down, gliding around in lazy laps hand in hand, and go home.

Hiroko tsk-tsks at them and makes them sit down and eat. Victor sneaks Yuuri some rice to go with his plate of mostly vegetables. Yuuri tries not to moan at the forbidden carbs. When they’re done, Yuuri pilfers a bottle of sake out of the kitchen and takes it upstairs with them.

He forces Victor to stretch in the same way that Minako forces him to after an emotion-fueled midnight dancing stint. Victor grumbles and groans, but Yuuri can tell he feels better afterwards. They share the sake, then cuddle up together. Yuuri spends too much time carding fingers through Victor's hair because he knows he loves the attention. Victor lets him without comment.

They don’t talk about it.

Yuuri hedges around it a few times, trying to tactfully steer the conversation without outright going ‘what the hell was that’. It doesn’t work. Victor deflects around it like a pro, so naturally that Yuuri startles when he realizes they’re on a completely different topic somehow.

They talk about rinkmates, competitions, katsudon, Yurio, dogs, coffee, and anime.

But they don’t talk about _it_.

Yuuri eventually stops trying. They can talk tomorrow.

There’s not enough sake to get drunk, but it’s enough to relax Victor, especially when Yuuri only takes a few sips and leaves the rest for his lover. When they decide to go to bed, Victor doesn’t twine around him like normal. They settle on their sides, face to face and breathing each other’s air, Victor’s fingers twisted with Yuuri’s. He holds his hands like a lifeline, even though his expression is soft.

Victor’s silent, though his expressions are worth a thousand words. He brings their joined hands up, pressing them against his chest. Yuuri blinks, his eyes prickling with tears. He leans forward and kisses him, soft and sweet and just as tender as before. Then he shakes off Victor’s hands, rolls on his back, and opens his arms.

Victor settles against his chest, cheek above his heart, and lets out a long breath. Yuuri’s not surprised when he drifts off almost immediately. He can feel his own eyes getting heavy.

They can talk tomorrow.

(They don’t.)


	6. Vkusno

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to the smut.  
> Chapter count updated to ? because this is really more 'series of one-shots' than chapters and I have several scenes half-done and more in my head.  
> Also, your comments give me life. I know that's cheesy and everyone says it but I LIVE for them. This is my first foray into a fandom and any sort of fanfic, first time writing smut, first time presenting any of my art/works/writing to the world, and wow, I'm absolutely baffled and blown away by the feedback. Thank you. <3 <3 <3

The first time they shower together, it’s… an experience.

The smutty romance novels Yuuri bought under Phichit’s Amazon account and read in bed on his rest days rarely had shower scenes, but when they did, he read them again and again. Bathing together is intimate on it’s own, but adding in sex gave it a completely new appeal. Then Phichit introduced him to internet erotica, and, well, he developed ideas. Wants. Plans.

When Victor sidles up to him before bed, waggles his brows, and goes “Shower with me, Yuuuuuuri.”, Yuuri’s heart does a complicated Lutz in his chest. Mental images of all kinds flash before his eyes, twisting his stomach in a way he’s starting to become very familiar with since they first dry humped each other a couple of weeks ago.

They’ve bathed together before, of course, but always in the onsen – always surrounded by rules and customs and lines that aren’t to be crossed. Showering together alone is different. Exciting.

“Okay.” He whispers while Victor beams at him.

Victor leads him by the hand upstairs to the small bathroom that is, for all intents and purposes, Yuuri’s. His parents had done some renovations when skating became a professional-level thing, adding a small shower room so Yuuri could rinse off after practice instead of opting for longer baths or anxiety-laced showers at the rink. It’s secluded, unlikely to have anyone interrupting them, and… tiny. Both of them barely fit in it without elbowing each other in the ribs.

The first problem is that Yuuri has to get undressed. He really isn’t good at this part. In fact, he completely glosses over this part in his fantasies. He’s fine with nudity – as long as it’s not him, not in a small enclosed space, not in the bright lights of the bathroom, and not _being watched by Victor_. 

Victor, shameless as always, tosses clothes off his body like Oprah tossing out t-shirts to her audience and is standing, one hand on his hip, looking at Yuuri with confusion because all Yuuri has done is take off his socks. Which he is still holding. Like an idiot.

“You have to get undressed, my Yuuri.” He reminds him gently, as if Yuuri could have possibly forgotten. Yuuri blushes scarlet, stares at the floor, and fiddles with the hem of his t-shirt.

Victor steps forward and hooks a knuckle under his chin. It’s his ‘look at me’ motion, and Yuuri is well trained by now to respond, almost automatically. He looks up and catches the Russian’s eyes. Victor’s expression changes as he reads something on Yuuri’s face; he goes from confused to understanding and drops a chaste kiss on his lips before turning to the shower.

“I’m getting in.” He says, “Join me if you’d like.”

Once there’s a frosted glass door between them, Yuuri can exhale and finally start taking off clothes. He has to steel himself before he gets in, but he does. Seeing Victor with water cascading down his sculpted-marble body is worth it.

The second problem is space. The shower really isn’t that large, not meant for two, especially not two grown male athletes. There’s a lot of elbowing and bumping, mostly by Yuuri because this isn’t how his smutty novels portrayed showering together and he feels awfully betrayed and embarrassed.

“One day,” Victor starts, almost a low growl, “I’m stealing you away to Saint Petersburg solely to introduce you to my apartment’s shower.”

Yuuri isn’t sure if it’s the hot water or the idea of being stolen away to Russia that makes him dizzy, but he needs a second, and leans up against one wall.

“Okay.” He agrees breathlessly.

It takes some jostling and bumping, but eventually Victor ends up against the wall under the shower head, maneuvering Yuuri under the actual spray. Yuuri feels his tense muscles relax once he’s under the hot water, closing his eyes and turning his face up. It’s warm and soothing, especially with Victor’s hands ghosting up and down his sides comfortingly.

“Turn around, I’ll wash your hair.” Victor offers, grabbing the shampoo. It’s his. Yuuri is going to smell like Victor when they’re done. That’s nice. He sighs as deft fingers dig in his hair, against his scalp, then stroke. Victor spends what seems like too much time just combing the soap suds through his hair, then guides him to rinse. There’s more finger-combing that almost puts Yuuri to sleep, then Victor is stepping close, his chest against Yuuri’s back, and starts mouthing at his shoulder muscle. His hands slide up Yuuri's chest, then his fingers ghost over his nipples. 

This is more like those smutty novels, and Yuuri approves. Relaxed and slightly dreamy-feeling after Victor’s attentions, he lets himself enjoy it, tilting his head to the side. Victor takes the hint, trailing his lips up his neck while his fingers start to tease in earnest, pinching and tweaking his nipples. Each movement sends a bolt of arousal through Yuuri. He's been half-hard basically since stepping in, but now he's so hard is almost hurts.

Victor continues down, lapping at where his neck and shoulder meet and humming, then drops a little further and sucks. Yuuri moans, knowing what’s happening. They’d established rules about marking after Victor left his first hickey on Yuuri’s neck. It’s allowed, in very specific places, and Victor seems almost obsessed.

Sure enough, when Victor backs off and Yuuri looks over, there’s a purpling mouth-sized oval on the crest of his shoulder. Victor regards it with pride, then plants a little kiss right on top of it, making Yuuri shiver. Goosebumps erupt down his arms.

“ты моя.” Victor growls quietly against his skin. Yuuri can recognize ‘you’ and ‘mine’ and when the two words click together in his head, he can’t help but whimper.

Victor smooths his hands down over his arms, then drops them to Yuuri’s hips. His thumbs trace little circles against the wet skin.

“Can I try something?” He asks, right against Yuuri’s ear. He swallows hard and nods, then Victor kisses his cheek. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

Then the Russian is sliding around, skin against skin in a wet glide, until he’s in front of Yuuri. He captures his lips in a searing kiss that leaves Yuuri breathless, presses him gently back against the shower wall, then drops abruptly to his knees.

And oh, _fuck_ , isn’t that a sight… Victor Nikiforov, on his knees, in front of Yuuri, both of them naked as sin and hard. It’s literally straight out of one of Yuuri’s wet dreams. The close quarters means he’s there, right there, centimeters away away from Yuuri’s hard cock and licking his lips. He glances up through bangs plastered against his forehead.

“Okay?”

Yuuri can’t speak, his mouth dry despite the steam and the fact that he’s in a shower, so he just nods mutely. Victor gives him a knowing grin and leans forward, running his tongue from base to tip against the underside of Yuuri’s cock while Yuuri lets out a full body, violent shudder above him. Victor hums a low rumble of amusement, then does it again. When his tongue gets to the head of Yuuri’s cock, he flicks it against the slit, then sucks it in between his lips.

Yuuri breathes out a curse and flexes his hands against the wall, straining to stay still. Victor’s mouth is a tad bit cooler than the shower water. His tongue is like velvet, sliding against the bottom of Yuuri’s head, teasing and exploring every bit of him. The mix of sensations has Yuuri’s knees weak already.

He chances a look down – Victor’s eyes are wide open despite the spray of water going everywhere, watching him, bright blue and blown with desire. When he catches Yuuri looking at him, he closes his eyes and moans. The image is positively lewd; the sound translates to vibrations that make Yuuri gasp. He can’t help it anymore; his hands move to Victor’s head, fingers tangling in his hair, though he’s careful not to pull.

Victor sucks more in, his tongue twisting and doing magical things around Yuuri’s shaft. He goes slow, laving each inch with saliva and making pleased little sounds that push Yuuri closer and closer to falling apart.

Victor pops off, grinning. “You can come in my mouth.” He offers and Yuuri’s cock jerks in response, something hot and molten pooling in his abdomen as he outright gasps. Before he can do anything else, Victor’s leaning forward again and sucking Yuuri down until his nose is pressed against him.

“Fuck, _fuck.”_ Yuuri curses breathlessly. It’s hot and quick and tight, nothing like the earlier teasing, and Yuuri twists his fingers in the Russian’s hair before he can stop himself. Victor just hums happily, bobs back, and bobs forward again, picking up a rhythm that is just on the good side of ‘too much’.

Yuuri groans and lets his head fall back against the shower wall. He can’t watch anymore, it’s too much. Victor keeps up a steady pace with his mouth while his hands go to slide up Yuuri’s thighs. They stop at his hips, grip him, and then Victor’s pressing him hard back against the wall, all while his head keeps bobbing.

Yuuri wasn’t even aware he was making little thrusts forward until suddenly he can’t. Victor holds his hips in a vice, keeping him still, hard enough to bruise and making Yuuri keen at the sensation of being immobile. He can feel his cock jerk in Victor’s mouth. So can Victor; he rewards it with a hard suck that has Yuuri teetering on the edge.

“Close.” He hisses as he tries to remember what language to speak in. “Victor, close, I’m close, _please_.”

Victor immediately presses forward and swallows. Yuuri’s vision goes white. He shouts and clenches his hands in Victor’s hair, desperately trying not to pull but unable to let go, and releases deep into the Russian’s throat. Victor swallows, each clench of muscle coaxing another pulse out of Yuuri, until there’s nothing left to give and Yuuri’s two seconds away from passing out.

He releases Victor’s hair and pats his head in silent apology. Victor slides off, giving his softening cock one last playful lick and making Yuuri suck in air through his teeth. He sits back on his heels, looking pleased with himself, and tilts his head up to look at Yuuri, who is still trying to remember how to breathe.

“ _Vkusno.”_ Victor purrs when Yuuri finally looks down at him.

“ _Fuck_ , Victor.” He mumbles, barely coherent, as the Russian chuckles at him. He stands and twines his arms around Yuuri’s waist. Yuuri links his around Victor’s neck, relieved to have support, and presses his face against his neck.

“Good, then?” Victor nuzzles the top of his head affectionately.

“ _Yes_.” His face is burning, but his body is in a glorious state of relaxation. He lets himself slump against Victor with a happy sigh. Victor chuckles and reaches to turn the taps off.

“C’mon, lets get you to bed.”

Victor manages to get them both out of the shower, then spends an exorbitant amount of time toweling Yuuri off from head to toe. He even carefully dabs at the spaces between his toes, making sure they’re dry and checking for blisters in the process. Then he wraps Yuuri in the towel, herds him to what’s become their shared room, and deposits him in the bed.

Yuuri lets him. It’s been a long day and his body feels like taffy, all soft and pliant. Victor comes back with underwear and a t-shirt, tugging both on Yuuri’s wobbly limbs. Yuuri lets him do that too, though he blushes when Victor inches his underwear up his thighs. Somehow being dressed seems more intimate than being undressed.

Victor doesn’t bother with clothes for himself, just nudges Yuuri up into the bed and crawls in beside him. Usually it’s Victor twisting octopus-like around Yuuri, but this time, Yuuri reaches, tucking himself against Victor’s side and tangling their legs together. It’s the first time he hasn’t had any anxious thoughts; the first time he’s allowed himself to enjoy the post-orgasmic high. He falls asleep with a stupid, huge grin that he hides against Victor’s neck.


End file.
